I want to travel, extensively
by Little Polveir
Summary: A little bit of naughtiness for you all. What I think happened about two months before the events of Series 7 Episode 3. SPOILERS


"Wow!" Timothy thought, lying awake at the thought of her. "Oh wow!"

He shook his head, trying to erase the thought of her, the woman who had been driving him wild with excitement since he first clapped eyes on her. She who had the power to send blood coursing through his body, just by saying "good morning."

"Magdelena," he breathed, "Magda". In a world of Wendys, Janes and Susans, just her name spoke of the exotic, the far-off, the exciting. To him Hungary spoke of a fallen empire, a grey area the other side of the Iron Curtain. But, she. She was a radiance. An Empress. A light in a dark place. And the hunger was all his. He plumped up his pillows, he tossed and turned across his bed, but he could not settle, nothing could sooth his passionate heart.

So many hours they had been alone together that afternoon. His parents were out at work, Angela and Teddy were both napping in their rooms. His biology textbooks, spread across the kitchen table, were dull and dry in comparison to her. Her eyes, like chasms, her hair, shinier than any he had ever seen, her hips so curved. Her clothes, so beautifully cut, so suave, so Parisian. He laughed at his own sultriness, picking up his tea and quaffing it like a cocktail as he had seen so many Hollywood stars do. As she entered the room, his eyes followed her, lapping up the swish of her hair, the ruffle of her skirt and the clippity-clop of her shoes.

Magda turned on her heels and noticed Timothy staring. Far too late, Timothy snapped back into reality.

"I thought you were studying?" Magda asked, eyeing Timothy with suspicion.

"I was," Timothy replied, "and I am."

"I do not quite understand you," Magda replied, but the faint blush that appeared on her cheek betrayed any innocence of Timothy's meaning or misunderstanding.

"Oh I think you do," Timothy replied, getting to his feet and walking across the kitchen towards her. To his great surprise, she did not move away from him. He reached out and placed a slightly sweaty hand on Magda's bare elbow. Their eyes met, and something in Magda's eyes told him to walk his fingers slowly down her arm, gently caressing and savouring every touch. When his fingers reached her wrist, he took her hand, pulled it up to his mouth and kissed it.

"Oh Timothy," Magda purred, "you are a naughty boy."

"I'm not a boy," Timothy replied, placing his free hand on Magda's waist. After reading her face for permission, Timothy ran his fingers gently up and down her side, then continued, "I'm 16, I'm a man, and I love you."

"There," Timothy sighed internally, "I said it."

"You are naughty," Magda repeated, wriggling from Timothy's grasped, then as she headed towards the kitchen door, continued, "but then so am I."

Timothy's heart was pounding and blood was flowing through his body in great waves. He could hardly believe it. As Magda reached the kitchen door, she beckoned Timothy with her finger, and purred, "come, show me you're a man."

By the time that Timothy had reached the door of the living room, Magda was reclining across his parents' brand new sofa. His eyes drank her in, every inch of perfection laid out in front of him. He felt a towering strength rise in him, stronger and harder than he had ever felt before. He ached for her, he longed for her. Confused and half-blinded by passion, Timothy stumbled across the living room, discarding casually his slippers and school tie. He sat on the end of the sofa next to Magda's shapely, stockinged legs.

"Do you know what to do?" Magda asked.

Timothy nodded, far more confidently than he really felt.

Magda repositioned herself so that she was lying flat on her back, loosening her long hair so that it cascaded down the arm of the sofa. She took his hand and guided it up inside her skirt. He felt the lace of her stockings, the softness of her bare thigh, the spring of knicker elastic. Magda's eyebrow's expression gave him permission to reach up higher and grasp the waistband of her knickers. Clumsily he pulled them down off her hips, past her knees and over her ankles, before awkwardly placing them on the floor in the vague direction of his tie. Magda drew her knees up and slightly apart, making room for him to enter her. He maneuvered his gangly limbs around her, and leaning on his hands, looked down at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He lent down towards her and kissed her, their tongues flickering together like wildfire. He felt Magda reach up and fiddle with the fastenings on his trousers. He felt his hardness spring forth from its confines, harder and more aching than he had ever thought it could be.

"Are you ready?" Magda purred into his ear.

Timothy could not form a verbal response to this, but merely nodded his head enthusiastically, taking care to ensure that his tongue was not lolling out.

His hardness entered her wet, parted softness, and she moaned in delight as he entered her. Kissing her sensuous lips, caressing her neat plump breasts, he felt her buck her hips underneath him.

"Harder, harder, harder!" she panted, over and over again. It took all of Timothy's strength to satisfy her.

"Oh! Yes!" the cried out, speaking and climaxing in unison.

Before Timothy really knew what had hit it, it was all over. He rolled off Magda, dumping himself unceremoniously onto the living room floor. He frantically got to his feet, limbs flailing everywhere as he desperately tried to fasten the flies of his trousers. Magda lay on the sofa, smoothed her tousled hair, and unashamedly replaced her knickers. She beckoned to Timothy to sit beside her.

Did you like where you went today?" she asked, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"I've always wanted to travel, extensively."


End file.
